The Price of Freedom
by lucymonster
Summary: These are my kinsfolk, Peter. Some of these men were with me from the cradle." After the battle against Miraz, Peter witnesses Caspian in a moment of grief. Peter/Caspian.
1. The Price of Freedom

The earth felt soggy beneath his feet as he trod a cautious path through the corpses littered across the plain. Nameless, faceless martyrs, their lives laid waste for a cause as petty as any that has ever led two nations (or one, divided nation) to war. His stomach churned, and the stench of death in his nostrils was like a physical blow. He stared purposefully ahead, trying hard not to look at the carcasses of his friends and foes.

Instinct told him that he was nearing the object of his search. It was almost an hour since the Prince (King, now) had taken leave of the crowds and disappeared. Peter had let him go, content to take care of the small remaining duties for him. He had seen Caspian's face, in the aftermath of the battle – chalk white, drawn and intensely, heart-wrenchingly sad – and had understood the need to be alone. After all, he was a warrior too. He could not remember the number of times he had slunk off after a battle and given himself over to shock.

A small movement caught his eye. There was Caspian – kneeling on the ground, barely distinguishable from the fallen surrounding him, his shoulders shaking violently. Peter approached cautiously. It wasn't until he was mere feet away that he realised the young monarch was crying.

His frame was wracked by violent sobs, but not a sound escaped his lips. Salty tears streamed down his cheeks, leaving clear trails through the caked blood and grime. His hands were shaking like leaves as they clasped the grey fingers of the Telmarine corpse in front of him. Peter wanted to draw back, to give the new king some privacy in this lapse of his carefully cultivated stoicism. Something inside him, however, pushed him closer until he stood right beside the kneeling boy. That same emotion now gripped his heart, that had so often led him to Caspian's side; had filled his dreams with delightful and torturous images every night; had led him, once waking, to the other's bedside to watch him in his peaceful slumber and chastise himself for being such a fool.

Peter reached out his hand, resting it on Caspian's shoulder. For a brief moment they stayed like that, Caspian shaking in grief, Peter feeling lost and helpless and vaguely ashamed. Then, without turning to look at him, Caspian spoke.

"He was my instructor in swordplay." His voice, though hoarse and hopelessly shaky, was surprisingly flat. "He never dreamed I would use his lessons against him."

"Stand up," said Peter weakly, struggling to keep his own voice level. He had never been good with words, or comfort. That was Susan's domain. He wished, briefly, that he hadn't come out at all. Then he realised it had been necessary. For both their sakes.

Caspian did not stir. "You wouldn't understand." His voice cracked – it sounded like he was biting back a howl. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady himself before continuing. "These are my kinsfolk, Peter. Some of these men were with me from the cradle. You could never…imagine…" He faltered, breathing raggedly.

"Caspian, I need you to come inside." There was a pleading note in Peter's voice. He hated this: hated seeing people cry, hated trying to comfort them, and more than anything he hated watching Caspian suffer.

The other boy rose unsteadily to his feet, wiping his face furiously. "I must apologise," he said shakily. "You should not have had to see me in such a state."

Peter shook his head. He continued to clasp Caspian's shoulder as comfortingly as he could. He opened his mouth to dismiss the apology, but an unreadable expression came over Caspian's face. Before he could react, he had pressed his lips to Peter's and was kissing him forcefully, savagely. Caspian's hand was in his hair, holding his head firmly in place, and Peter could only stand there stunned as the other boy's taste consumed his senses.

Abruptly, Caspian wrenched himself back and pushed Peter away so violently that both of them almost lost their balance. By the time he had fully registered what was happening, Caspian was halfway across the field, the wind whipping his hair around as he stumbled blindly back to camp.

Peter, alone on the battlefield, merely gaped after him.

By the time Peter returned, Caspian had regained his composure fully and was arranging for the bodies to be cleared from the field. They didn't speak for the rest of the day, and by the time he crawled into bed that night Peter wondered if their encounter on the field had been nothing more than another hopeless dream.

* * *

A/N: I'm not as happy with this piece as I could be...it's been a tricky one to write. Constructive criticism is very welcome, so don't spare me if you think I've handled it badly. Please review, because feedback is better than my mum's self-saucing chocolate pudding. And that's saying something.

I'd also like to know if people are interested in seeing this continued. It was originally written as the first section of a three-part story, but that wasn't working so I've edited it into a stand-alone. The second section I'm going to use for a completely different pairing, but the third section involves a bit of Caspian/Peter sexiness and if you guys would like it, I'll see if I can get it up to scratch.


	2. And Everything Was White

Here's the follow-up, as promised. I've been tweaking it for a while, and finally managed to get it finished today. Hope it doesn't disappoint.

* * *

Peter was a fool. He knew it with absolute certainty, and yet the knowledge did not deter him as he padded through the great corridors to where, according to one of the servants, he would find Caspian's chambers. He knew it was completely inappropriate, to seek out the King in his private quarters, but the need to talk to him overpowered Peter's pride and sense of propriety. His visit had two purposes – to check that Caspian was ok after his distress over the battle, and to try and obtain an explanation of what had passed between them and what, if any, significance it had.

His greatest fear was that Caspian would tell him it had been a ridiculous mistake, an outburst in a moment of complete emotional turbulence. In truth, his behaviour had Peter dumbfounded. He could not imagine kissing someone out of grief and despair, and nor could he imagine revealing himself to someone he was attracted to in such a moment.

He had not had a chance to speak to the other boy since the battle. The feast that evening was an official event, in celebration of Caspian's coronation, and the King had been busy all evening making small talk with nobles and fulfilling his duty as royal host.

Eventually, Peter came to a great door at the end of the passage. For a moment he hesitated, then steeled his nerves and knocked sharply.

"Enter," came a muffled voice from within. He swung the door open, and the blood rushed to his cheeks as he came face to face, for the first time since the incident on the field, with Caspian.

For a moment, Caspian looked startled. He quickly collected himself, though, and rose politely from his desk.

"Good evening, High King Peter. I trust you are well?"

Regaining some of his own composure, Peter nodded. "Very well, thanks. Uh…this is a nice room you've got."

Caspian shrugged. "It is a little too grand for my tastes, to be honest," he admitted casually. "I would have preferred to keep my old bedchamber, but it is Telmarine custom for the king to live in these apartments."

Peter nodded. "It was like that in our time as well," he said unnecessarily. "So, what's that you're reading there?" He moved over to the desk, for all the world as if late-night visits to Caspian's sleeping quarters were very normal and not at all awkward or inappropriate. "Anything interesting?"

Caspian played along, leaning back casually against his desk. "Hardly," he sighed, grinning slightly. "Financial reports and the like – I thought they would give me a night or two to settle in before they started bombarding me with paperwork." His tone was light and playful, but Peter could see that underneath he was quite stressed.

"I have something that may interest you, actually," continued Caspian, moving over to the bookshelves (apparently, the gentlemen-in-waiting had finished moving all his old things up). "It was a gift from Cornelius, my tutor. It's about…well, about you." He reached up and pulled a large manuscript from the top shelf. The front cover bore a beautiful illustration of four people on horses…_us_, Peter realised, feeling rather taken aback.

"Thank you." Peter studied the cover of the book for a moment, then placed it carefully on the desk. It was fascinating, but right now he had more pressing concerns. "So, what I really wanted was to…talk to you about…well, yesterday." Peter cursed himself as his oratory skills (or lack thereof) began manifesting themselves clearly. He had never been any good at _this_ sort of thing.

"Peter, you have my humblest apologies," said Caspian, dropping all pretences and gazing down at his hands. "I should never have forced my feelings upon you like that, and I can only crave your pardon for any offense I have caused."

"I didn't come looking for an apology." Peter's tone was sharper than he intended; Caspian looked taken aback. "Listen, I understand if you were just being impulsive. I've done stupider things when I've been upset." He cringed even as the words escaped his lips, but forced himself to keep speaking. "I just…need to know how you feel. About me."

"I feel…" Caspian paused, stepping closer to Peter. "It is hard to say." In one swift motion, he brushed his lips softly against Peter's and stepped back, his eyes wide and anxious. "I feel…something like that."

Peter felt like there was a large object wedged in his throat. He stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and kissed the other king hungrily. Caspian responded instantly, his arm snaking around Peter's waist to pull him even closer. Peter's whole body tingled as Caspian tugged at his lower lip, tender but insistent.

When they pulled apart, both were slightly breathless. "If you want to stay," breathed Caspian, his articulacy long since having fled out the window, "I…do not mind."

"I don't mind either." Peter followed him eagerly into the adjacent room, and then gasped sharply as Caspian pushed him down onto the large, soft bed and kissed him passionately, exploring every inch of his mouth with a new urgency. Tongues and teeth clashed over and over, and Peter could not imagine why they hadn't done this before…

Caspian's lips were at his throat now, his hands inside his shirt, slowly robbing him of both his inhibitions and his sanity. Peter moaned slightly, his own hands running along the Telmarine's torso, moving down towards his hips without really knowing _what_ he was doing.

"Peter…" Caspian's breath was coming in ragged gasps now, as Peter gained confidence and began to grapple with Caspian's belt. It took a surprisingly short time for the two Kings to divest themselves of all superfluous garments, and the feeling of naked skin on skin made Peter feel like someone had lit a bonfire in his abdomen. He could almost feel the little Fauns and Satyrs dancing around it.

"Oh god, Caspian…" The other boy's hand had drifted lower now, caressing him in a _very_ personal place and wrenching a stream of incoherent moans from Peter. "I want you to…argh…yes…"

The sensations as the other King slid inside him were nearly too much for Peter to handle. He groaned, and Caspian was moaning his name over and over and panting for breath and white stars exploded behind Peter's eyes and he arched his back, giving himself up completely to the explosion of bliss that wracked his frame. Caspian gave an incoherent cry, and the two boys collapsed back onto the mattress in a tangled heap of sweaty, trembling limbs and uneven gasps.

Later that night, Peter lay spent and blissfully sleepy on the huge royal bed, with Caspian's head cushioned on his chest.

"Caspian?" ventured Peter softly, not sure if his lover was awake or not.

"Mph," was the suitably eloquent reply. Closer to the 'not' spectrum then, Peter figured.

He paused, trying to figure out exactly what it was that he wanted to say. "I know it feels like you've lost all your family and friends. And I want you to know that you're welcome to consider us all your new family. Lucy already sees you as a surrogate brother."

"I do not want you as my brother, Peter," Caspian mumbled sleepily, nuzzling into his chest comfortably. "I had something a bit different in mind."

"That's not what I meant," chuckled Peter, but let it drop. He was just happy – happy that he was here, happy that they'd succeeded, happy that his affections were returned. Feeling thoroughly fond of life, he allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


End file.
